Ah, finally it's Kaylles
In Dreams One of those that seem a little to advanced for me. Then again I’m not much into alt-world stories.
Now for some poetry.
His eyes traced the smooth, swan's curve of her throat and the way that the
small, fragile latticework of the earrings she wore cast reflections of light
against her skin from where they dangled and glittered against her neck. How
strands of dark, gleaming hair escaped her sleek, shoulder-length bob to brush
against her skin. He imagined his fingers trailing that same path, running
their tips softly along the pulse line he could see beating steadily just
below the cradle of her jaw. Considered what it would feel like to brush the
back of one hand to follow the line up onto her cheek and explore its gentle
curves and sharp angles before he slipped his fingers into the dark mass
framing her face. And her eyes...those dark, glorious, peat-colored eyes...
...which were studying him curiously.
"What?" Lois demanded. She darted a frantic look into the mirror, sure she
must have missed something horrendous given the intent study he was making of
her face and came back to him, with a frown, when she found nothing obvious.
"What?!"
"Uh, nothing."
Can't make it too easy.
She could conjure up every expression that had ever been in that deep, sensitive, chocolate brown gaze. How they warmed to the color of mocha when he smiled at her. Deepened to glow with amber and mahogany when they shared a quiet moment, late in the newsroom, working on their notes or debating the course of their next story, excitement burning in them like fire, matching her own. In anger they were dark chips of obsidian, but that was an emotion rare to him as ice was in sunlight.
This could get my vote for the most touching exchange in LCfanficdom.
"I thought where that got us was pretty good,"[…]
Then she turned around. Her eyes flayed him, huge and dark from out of a pale face, and brimming with something dark and indefinable.
"Yeah, well... sometimes what you think is good is just...lies and trouble. And..." she drew in a rough breath, "...sometimes what you think you want isn't what you need. What's good isn't always good for *you*."
Gloves off. Mad Dog Lane in all her glory.
She didn't want to be alone.
The thought echoed, a pitiful whimper in her head.
/Okay, fine, Lois!/ her scornful self prodded at her after a moment's silence.
/So, you don't want to be alone. Great! So now what? You go running back to
Clark and beg him to forgive you? Lay yourself at his feet? Beg him to take
you back no matter what? Can you live with that? Is it a price enough to pay
for not being alone? Because he would take you back, you know he would. What
man wouldn't? His own personal little geisha who'll forgive him anything, so
long as he throws her the odd scrap or two of affection now and then. What man
could really pass on an offer like that?/
Lois snuffled, trying to block out that persistent harpy as it jabbed at her,
flaying her...and to her dismay she succeeded. Because the plain truth of it
was that, despite all logic, despite her own self-disgust at her weakness, she
missed Clark so badly - as partner, friend *and* lover - that it made her want
to scream and rail and weep herself into a blind fury of longing.
